


Raindrops

by Wyrdmazer



Series: Translated Works [9]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Genre: Autumn, First Kiss, Fluff, Getting Together, Light Angst, M/M, POV First Person, Soft Boys, but such a lonely summer it has been, life can be pretty in our mind, simple things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-10
Updated: 2018-10-10
Packaged: 2019-07-29 03:48:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16256048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wyrdmazer/pseuds/Wyrdmazer
Summary: Your smiles remind me of gossamer.I'm scared that they will go away.I wish I could catch them, write them down somewhere,and read their notes....even when you won't be here anymore.I wish I could have a collection of your thoughts amongst my own,to be able to live your dreams and be by your side in your nightmares.I'd like to share something more than a handshake.I would do it. If you let me.SHM





	Raindrops

**Author's Note:**

> **NARRATOR: Albus Severus Potter.**

The sky spews icy water.  
His blond curls are wet and dark.  
"You've got a leaf in your hair."

* * *

My fingers tangle in my permanent mess of hair.  
"Here." He reaches with his hand. "There you go."  
He grins. The leaf has a colour of cloudy sunset.

* * *

"What do you see in autumn?"  
I shrug.  
_Your face after a two-months break._

* * *

"It's so... homey."  
"Like the Weasley pack gathered under one roof." He laughs. "I see grey sky and..."

* * *

He smells like old bricks, wood from a fireplace. Wet cheeks.  
"...dying green," he whispers.  
Suddenly, I see grey, too.

* * *

He examines my eyes.  
He's like a rainy day.  
_I love listening to the noise of raindrops. as they rush to smash on the cold ground._

* * *

"Promise me you'll never do anything too stupid. Without me."  
I sigh. The present has a dream-like feel.  
"Promise me you'll always be there to stop me."

* * *

My voice is a question mark.  
It hangs in the air, like a withered flower.  
_the stem has lost its ground_

* * *

His fingers are like ice. He brushes them over my forehead.  
Then brushes my hair out of my face.  
"Aren't you cold?" I breathe; a sudden gust.

* * *

He bites his lip. I can see that he's shaking.  
"Come on, there're some leftovers from dinner probably."  
I turn around and the wind spits in my face.

* * *

Spoons of hot onion soup disappear in my throat.  
I burned my tongue.  
"Do you like it?"

* * *

He looks up from where his gaze has been wandering over the table. He smiles modestly.  
"As always. I enjoy moments like that," he adds after a moment.  
He sounds like a Saturday morning. A warm bed and yawns.

* * *

I collect our plates.  
He frowns. Then jumps off the chair and hugs me from behind.  
"What are you doing?" I try to turn around.

* * *

"I want a second helping."  
He takes the dishes from me and puts them down on the table, with a soft clatter.  
"Uhm, here, I'll pour you more."

* * *

He blocks the space when I reach for his plate.  
"Could you look at me for a moment?"  
His grey eyes thunder on the horizon.

* * *

I grasp onto his arms as if they were a lifebuoy.  
_what for?_  
"What are you afraid of?"

* * *

His voice sounds like rain in the dark sky.  
"Onion." I blink, sinking into the familiar fog for a moment. "I hate it when it prickles me in the eyes."

* * *

His smile creates dimples.  
He has nice cheekbones.  
"You've not been you lately."

* * *

I take a step back, grabbing the plates.  
"Maybe because it's a new me?" I suggest casually, making a face.  
My heart is the tail of a beaver, beating against the dam.

* * *

I catch a second of his gaze. It grew steamy.  
The sun would look nice in it.  
_How do I switch the lights on?_

* * *

"It seems to me that some changes... are out of place."  
He nudges the edge of the table with his hand.  
_He reminds me of an outsider._

* * *

"Yeah? Well, what about you?" I shoot back. More onion-y than I intended.  
The straight line of his mouth breaks.  
"I'm rather discovering what's been going on for a while."

* * *

The words hid deep in my throat.  
What am I afraid of?  
"So... I'll give you the soup."

* * *

He shakes his head.  
"You don't need to," he says softly like a squirrel's tail.  
This is not the first time I don't know what's this all about.

* * *

I turn toward the sink. with my back to another opportunity  
"I'll take a walk."  
I hear his steps.

* * *

"Wait, I'll be done in a sec, we can–"  
a slam of the door  
_And now who behaves differently? I merely adapt to you._

* * *

I wipe my wet hands on my pants.  
I smell like my mother.  
The chill hits my face.

* * *

"Why did you leave without a coat?"  
I reach out to him with the piece of clothing.  
He pretends to be a stone statue. I can't see his eyebrows.

* * *

Autumn strokes the blonde hair.  
_In autumn orchards are blushing_  
like his cheeks.

* * *

"I'm not cold." His teeth are chattering.  
"Learn to lie at last, would you? Or just stop trying."  
I cover him with the coat.

* * *

"Would you like me to lie to you?"  
His voice hums with something that I'm not familiar with yet.  
"No," I answer honestly. "I guess it's obvious."

* * *

He turns to face me.  
He looks like snow in September.  
_out of place_

* * *

"So," I wrap my arm around him, "what has changed?"  
He's still too slim.  
He's a leaf on the wind.

* * *

He shrugs. His coat rustles.  
"Everything and nothing at the same time. We talk too little, don't you think?"  
He copies my gesture.

* * *

I breathe in the cold.  
Prickles.  
"We can go back to it. Let's say, right now."

* * *

I can feel that he's gathering something in himself.  
I wait patiently.  
A pigeon sat on the curb nearby. It's pecking the ground.

* * *

He clicks his tongue.  
He's getting anxious.  
It passes onto me. I wish I knew how to help us both.

* * *

He releases a trickle of steam in a sudden exhale.  
"I'm not sure if I'm able to talk about it. You know? It's kind of... not for words... Not for _my_ words..."  
Silence falls upon us.

* * *

"Fine. We don't have to talk. We can stay silent."  
I hum, suddenly afraid of letters.  
He shifts away from me.

* * *

He looks around. He would fit well in heaven.  
_maybe he's looking for an inspiration._  
"Can we... do something...?"

* * *

I watch his anticipation.  
He tenses up.  
I nod.  
"What's stressing you out?" I ask softly.

* * *

He bites his lip.  
"In fact, absolutely everything. Every single move. Every single word. Every single thought... Because I don't know – I can't possibly know – what will happen next."

* * *

He plants his hand on mine, resting passively on the cold ground.  
His own is trembling terribly.  
I entwine our fingers like a chain.

* * *

"It's just that... I don't want you to stop... again... I don't want you to not be there..."  
He doesn't finish the sentence.  
And I'm still waiting, like a pedestal.

* * *

"I don't ever want to regret that I hadn't done something just because of fear. Although, it's not _just_ fear. It's more. So much more."

* * *

"What is it?" I ask; a murmuring brook.  
"You," he exhales.  
I'd like him to look at me.

* * *

"I don't want to keep up... the lies. I don't want to promise myself every day that I'll do it tomorrow."  
He wets his lips with his tongue.  
"Whatever is going to happen, I want to know that I have not missed the chance."

* * *

"You've been thinking about that incident again? It's the past, Scor. We were fourteen."  
"And how much has changed?"  
The world stops for a moment.

* * *

A little boy reflects in his bright eyes.  
"It is the past, yes. But what's in the future?"  
I shrug. I understand ants once again.

* * *

"You're right, you know, I've been thinking a lot. I guess I think too much. I just keep withdrawing. I want to stop thinking and start... going for what I care about."  
"So do it."  
As if it was so easy. _abracadabra_

* * *

He laughs. It's a sound on the edge of the precipice.  
"Perhaps I do– Perhaps this time I really shouldn't worry that much. I just don't know if–"  
He shakes his head.

* * *

"Can you imagine what it would be like to live in your dreams?"  
"Hmm, it would be a little... unrealistic."  
A smile tugs at the corners of his lips.

* * *

"So what do you want?"  
He squeezes my hand. It's a reflex.  
"Can I show you?"

* * *

I hear tango in my veins.  
Leaves are rustling as they glide with the wind.  
The wind combs through his hair.

* * *

He leans in towards me. Our faces are almost one.  
I watch his tension, feeling my own.  
Somehow, I know what is about to happen.

* * *

He cups my cheek. His hand is cold.  
So far, nothing's out of the ordinary.  
Apart from the bigger picture.

* * *

Aeons pass.  
My heart stammers mercilessly.  
His lips are almost its echo.

* * *

Breath after breath.  
He looks into my pupils.  
I close my eyes.

* * *

I just opened the door to the frozen angel.  
His lips are chapped and cold.  
And salty.

* * *

"You taste like onion soup," I whisper against his mouth, like a fool.  
I feel silly.  
Happy-silly.

* * *

I open my eyes.  
He gapes at me in wonder.  
He looks like a child who just saw the big world for the second time.

* * *

"I think I don't believe it."  
His breath could be a sauna in Alaska. He seems to be intoxicated.  
"I don't think I believe it, either. But that does not change the facts."

* * *

We're sitting on the ground. Winter threatens autumn.  
His hand in mine; my hand in his.  
We breathe together.

* * *

"See, Scor? Life goes on."  
"And will stop one day..."  
I hug him. His heart is raindrops on the glass.  
"So let's not waste it on the past anymore."

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it! Any feedback will be greatly appreciated. Also, any mistakes are, obviously, unintentional, so if you notice something wrong, let me know!
> 
> PS: This was a translation of my "Krople deszczu".


End file.
